


seen all the stars before (happiness is)

by misskatieleigh



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Disabled Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 05:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10825032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misskatieleigh/pseuds/misskatieleigh
Summary: Based off a tumblr callout for stories featuring disabled characters.





	seen all the stars before (happiness is)

 

He’d turned away from the blast instinctively, curling himself into a ball against the side of the ship and exposing the long curve of his back to the force of the explosion, to the debris and heat flying through the air. He’d be dead now if it weren’t for Tonc, somehow only grazed by the blaster bolt that Bodhi thought had killed him, shaking Bodhi with bloody hands, ‘fuck, fuck, Bodhi. I don’t know how to fly this thing. Wake up - WAKE UP!’, and either Tonc’s some sort of prodigy or he’s just trying to keep Bodhi talking, but they’d managed to get the shuttle up in the air, managed to get some of their people back - not enough, but some. 

Except now they’re back on Yavin, the collective breath of an entire base held as they wait to find out what happened with the plans and with the princess, and Bodhi’s not getting better. They say ‘severe spinal damage’ and ‘extensive burns’ and they put him in bacta over and over until it’s all he can taste and still nothing works. They talk in hushed tones about mech and artificial tissue and Bodhi’s mind flashes to Saw, more machine than man at the end, to Vader, how much human is left inside all that black, and he panics, not even realizing he’s screaming until Jyn’s hands are on his face, rough and cold and real, almost Galen, but not enough. He wonders if it was the metal under their skin that made them lose their minds, or if they were all headed down that path if they lived long enough. 

So he’s stuck. Surrounded by tech that hovers and flies and he’s on kriffing wheels. It’s not so bad, except when he wants to do anything for himself. It’s amazing how the only choice of interaction, outside of his small circle of friends, seems to be blatant staring or pretending he doesn’t exist. In either case, he can’t even get his own cup of caf because this thing, this piece of garbage chair they’ve stuck him in doesn’t have anywhere to put a cup so he can put both hands on the wheels. 

So then he’s wheeling through the base, looking for something to do, something to make him worth all the bacta they used up trying to ‘fix’ him. He’s near the shuttle hangar when he starts to hear the noise, people shouting and metal clanging as it bounces off the duracrete floor. He speeds up, pausing only long enough to let a group of pilots come through the door so he can get through. 

Someone’s taking apart his ship. 

He knows it’s not actually _his ship_ , it’s stolen in the first place and it belongs to the Alliance now, but his mind still screams that it’s his, his blood seeped through the floor and his friends, his family that it brought off that beach. And now someone is taking it apart, one of the pilot chairs already tipped on it’s side on the floor below the ship, wires dangling from the walls. Someone, one of the mechanics probably, is shouting, her words clipped. 

‘You can’t just kriffing pull stuff out because you feel like it, Captain. That’s not how ships work!’ 

It’s followed by a string of words in a language Bodhi doesn’t recognize, but instinctively knows are cursing out whatever Captain they’re being aimed at. Then the Captain responds, a voice that Bodhi would know anywhere, words rounded by an accent that sends a curl of warmth through him every time he hears it. _Cassian_.

‘It shouldn’t be that difficult. You take out one chair, you make a space for another. Don’t give me excuses. We can fly at light speed, but we can’t put a wheelchair in a cargo shuttle?’

Bodhi clears his throat, pushing hard to get the chair over the bump at the end of the ramp and up, toward Cassian. Cassian, who’s stripped down to his undershirt, grease on his hands and streaked across his face where he’s apparently pushed his hair out of the way several times. His own hair gets in his face constantly, finally growing back from the rough cut they’d done to clear away the burnt areas. The mechanic looks at him, then back at Cassian, shaking her head and slamming the wrench in her hand down onto the console. ‘Just let me build him a better kriffing chair, alright? It’ll be easier than trying to retrofit that piece of garbage anyway.’

She pushes past Cassian, her mouth quirking into a soft smile for Bodhi as she walks past him.

‘Your boyfriend’s a pain in my ass, Rook.’

Bodhi splutters, his face flushing red. ‘He’s not my boyfriend!’

She sighs, rolling her eyes up toward the ceiling. ‘Oh, okay.. Whatever you say.’

She walks off, boots clanging against the ramp and muttering in her own language under her breath. Bodhi looks back to Cassian, who is decidedly not looking at him, his own face turning pink as well. 

‘Cassian, what - what are you doing to the shuttle?’

Cassian looks at him, his warm brown eyes tired. ‘It was supposed to be a surprise. I wanted… I wanted to do something. To be able to _fix_ something. I wanted you to be able to fly again, Bodhi.’

Bodhi’s heart clenches in his chest. ‘Cassian, I - I don’t need you to… to fix me.’

Cassian’s shaking his head though, moving forward and dropping to his knees in front of Bodhi. ‘No, no. I don’t mean it that way. I want to fix this  _for_ you. I want to make things better.’ He looks down, his hands clenched together on Bodhi’s knees. ‘Maybe, maybe I’m doing this wrong. What should I do, Bodhi?’

Bodhi covers Cassian’s hands with his own, gently prying his fingers apart and lacing them with his own. He smiles softly. ‘Well, first you can come up here so I can kiss you. Then, maybe we can talk about that chair she offered to build me?’

Cassian huffs out a laugh, pushing up so his face is almost level with Bodhi’s. ‘Let’s go with your plan. It sounds better than mine already.’

Bodhi tilts his head, pressing his mouth against Cassian’s. It’s a difficult angle, and Cassian smells like grease and sweat, but his mouth tastes like caf and not bacta, and his hands are gentle in Bodhi’s hair. Bodhi pulls back, resting his forehead against Cassian’s and smiling. 

‘Thank you. For trying, at least. I do appreciate that.’

Cassian sighs. ‘I’ll do better. Or at least I’ll try to. I just want you to be happy.’

‘I’m happy now.’


End file.
